On That Day
by Jay Nice
Summary: The anniversary of Mary Winchester's death is hard for all the Winchesters. Or it would be, if Sam knew exactly what was going on. One-shot, Weechesters.


Sam awoke before the alarm went off. He eyed the clock on the wall and saw the little hand pointing to the seven an the big hand pointing to the two. Dean had been teaching him how to read clocks, so he was pretty sure that that meant it was seven-two. Or did the two mean something else? Sam couldn't quite remember, though he knew Dean's alarm sounded at seven-six. Excited to start getting ready for school, he clambered out of bed and picked out his clothes. He loved Kindergarten, and most mornings were like this when he woke up earlier than he needed to in order to get ready. He couldn't help it; he just loved school.

It was only when he realized he had to pee and found the bathroom door locked that Sam noticed something: Dean wasn't in bed.

"Dean?" Sam called, knocking his tiny fist on the door. It wasn't typical of Dean to be awake this early, and Sam found himself a tiny bit worried. "You 'kay?"

There was a weird shuffling sound, then Dean replied, "I'm fine, Sammy. I'll be out in a minute to make you breakfast."

"Okay," Sam said, nodding. Dean just probably had to use the bathroom too. Though if he didn't hurry up… Sam wriggled in his spot.

When Dean exited, Sam rushed inside the bathroom. After he was done with his business, he got dressed and psyched himself up for how cool school would be today. Maybe they'd learn more sight words! Sam liked learning how to read new words, even if he already knew a lot of them since Dean had taught him. He also like the people in his class, and his teacher Miss O'Mallory. He couldn't understand why Dean didn't like school, because school was a lot of fun. Sam got to play tag and do swings at playground time, and learning new things were the best! His teacher told him he was really smart because he already knew how to add small numbers and sound out words, but there were still things that he didn't know and it was cool to learn them.

Dean had made toast, lathered up with peanut butter, just how Sam liked it. He sat down and began munching on the piece of bread when he noticed something. "Dean, where's your breakfast?"

Dean made a face. "Not hungry."

"Oh." Sam accepted the excuse, since Dean really didn't look hungry. He looked like maybe he wanted to throw up. Sam peered at Dean suspiciously. If Dean _was_ getting sick, should he call Daddy? Sam didn't know what he was supposed to do if Dean got sick. Probably call Daddy, or Pastor Jim if Daddy didn't pick up. Sometimes Daddy was so busy that he didn't have time to answer the phone, Sam knew. "Are you getting sick, Dean?" he asked, just to be safe.

"Nah," Dean responded dully. His face took on a particularly green tinge. "Just not hungry. Now c'mon, eat."

Sam nodded and complied. He had almost finished his meal (he liked to take his time), when Dean spoke up, saying, "Uh, ya know, Sammy, we don't have to go to school today."

Sam stopped what he was doing and raised his eyebrows. "What?" he asked, voice reaching a whining tone. "Why? Today's Tuesday, and that's a school day. Miss O'Mallory said so."

Dean looked extremely uncomfortable, fidgeting with the collar of his over-sized USMC shirt. "Well, most kids don't even come to school on this day, so I thought we could just stay home too," he responded all-too quietly, shifting his gaze to his dirt-caked fingernails.

Sam pouted. "But we're supposed to be havin' a party today. It's Kenneth's birthday!" They'd been at this school for a month now, and Sam had already witnessed two of his classmates' birthdays. Birthdays meant cupcakes and ice cream and sometimes even extra playground time. Sam couldn't wait until his birthday. Maybe Dean would take him to the store to buy some chocolate cupcakes to share with the class!

Dean made that face again, though this time it looked like something was hurting him, like that time when he'd stubbed his toe on the bathroom jamb. "I, uh, I'm sure Kenneth won't be there today either. I'm tellin' you, Sam, today's, like, a holiday."

Sam tilted his head. "What's a holiday?"

"Days like Christmas and Easter, where no one goes to school at all."

"Oh." Sam stopped to think. "Will Miss O'Mallory be there?"

Dean shrugged. "I dunno, _maybe_ , but teachers usually have to go in case any kids show up, though they know most won't."

"So I won't get in trouble if I don't go?"

"Nah, it'll be fine." Dean smiled, but Sam thought it looked a little sad. But why would Dean be sad? Dean was _never_ sad. But Dean wasn't crying, was he? Sam always cried when he got sad, like when Daddy wouldn't let them take home that poor puppy on the side of the road. If Dean wasn't crying, then he had to be okay. "We can watch movies and eat candy and stuff. It'll be fun."

Sam chewed on his bottom lip. "I _guess_ it'll be okay... We'll go to school the rest of the week, right?"

"Sure thing, kiddo. I just don't wanna go to school on a holiday, ya know?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded in agreement. He wouldn't like it if he showed up and was the only one in his class. He liked his classmates, but it would be weird if Miss O'Mallory was only teaching him.

Dean did a funny smile-that-wasn't-a-smile again, then went back to lounging in their bed. Now that Sam had looked at him carefully, he realized that Dean looked really tired. Maybe it was good that it was a holiday, so that Dean could get some rest.

"I wish Daddy could be here," Sam said, settling down next to Dean. "He shouldn't have to work on the holiday today."

Dean coughed, scrunching his eyebrows together and letting his eyes close. "Yeah," he replied, voice husky.

They watched movies, including Superman and that funny Ghostbusters movie with the marshmallow giant.

"Ghosts aren't real, right Dean?" Sam asked once the film was over.

"Nah," Dean answered quickly. He winked at Sam. "It's the Stay Puft Marshmallow man you gotta watch out for."

Sam giggled, and was happy when a real grin crossed his brother's face.

Dean chose a bunch of old black-and-white movies with lots of cowboys and guns after that. Sam didn't like those as much, but they seemed to entertain Dean so he didn't care.

On about the second or third western movie, Sam noticed that a name had been repeating on all of them. "Dean, who's Cli…nt…," he sputtered as he tried to sound the words out like Dean had shown him.

Dean's gaze flicked to his brother. "You mean Clint Eastwood?" he asked, a wide grin crossing his face. Sam nodded. "Dude, only the greatest western hero of all time!"

"Why's he gotta gun?"

"How else would he scare away those bandits?"

Sam shrugged, seeing his brother's point. "So he's the good guy?" he asked, trying to figure out these movies and what exactly was happening. The plots were going over his head, and sometimes the actors would say words that Daddy said when he was angry.

"Of course!" Dean exclaimed. "He's like Batman, except without the tights."

Sam laughed at that, finding Dean's nudge to Batman's tights funny. It was one of their favorite TV shows, and Dean always loved imitating the Caped Crusader and Robin in their many battles. It was pretty cool, though Sam found their outfits slightly ridiculous at times.

"Batman's cooler," Sam decided, looking at Clint Eastwood as he popped up on the screen. "He doesn't _have_ to use guns."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well clearly Batman's better, but Clint's a close second. He can do anything, the gun's only to make him look scary to the bad guys. You can't be a western hero without a gun."

Sam made a "hmm" sound, not entirely convinced that this guy was almost as cool as Batman, but trusting his brother. "Anything else that's cool about him?"

"Well he always saves the girl, which is super important, and he always saves the day, 'cause it seems like he's the only one who ever does things about solving the problem in these movies. He always wear cool western-y clothes, and sometimes rides a horse, and Mom always said—"

Dean cut off his statement, body becoming rigid. Sam's jaw hung open. Dean had been about to say something about Mom. Dean almost _never_ talked about Mom. But instead of completing whatever he'd been saying, Dean only sat there, frozen.

"Dean?" Sam asked cautiously.

Dean sat unmoving, and his stillness resembled that of the victims of that snake-woman Dean had told him stories about. What was her name? Medesa? Midasa? Oh, Medusa. She had snakes for hair and was so ugly that she turned people into stone. Except for the fact that Dean wasn't a statue, he looked like he'd just seen Medusa.

Sam reached out a hand and grabbed Dean's arm, shaking it slightly. "Dean, what's wrong?" he said softly, being sure not to startle his brother out of his trance. Dean was staring, jaw agape, at their television, and Sam could swear he saw little tears welling up in his jewel-green eyes. "Dean!" he cried more insistently, becoming frightened by his brother's unresponsiveness. His chest became tight with anxiety. What was going on?

Suddenly, Dean jerked and grabbed the TV remote. Shakily, he jammed his thumb on the crimson power button and rose to his feet. Swaying, he hurriedly hobbled to the bathroom before slamming the door with an echoing _bang!_ Sam sucked in a breath.

"Dean?" Sam asked again, venturing as to edge closer to the bathroom door. He pressed his ear against the door in attempt to listen, but he heard nothing. "Dean, are you okay?"

Sam released a long breath of relief when he heard Dean's quivering voice say, "Sam, I— Just…leave me alone. _Please_."

"Are you okay?"

This time there was no response, only a noise that sounded suspiciously like sobbing.

But why would Dean be crying?

Was it because he'd said something about Mom? But Dean had told Sam stuff about Mom, a while back, and he hadn't reacted like this. When Sam had been younger, Dean would tell him stories about Mom and what she'd looked like, what she'd liked to do, how much she'd loved them. Dean hadn't broken apart then, though Sam vaguely remembered those conversations containing tears. As time has passed, though, Dean had stopped talking about Mom altogether. So now it was a surprise that he had actually mentioned her.

Sam tried the door handle, but Dean had made sure to lock it. Of course he had. Sam sighed, upset that he didn't know what the problem was and how he could fix it. He was about to ask Dean how he could help, but then the phone rang.

Sam stood nervously, chewing on his lip. He wasn't allowed to answer the phone. But since Dean was locking himself in the bathroom, shouldn't Sam? The ring was cut off after the third tone, and Sam held his breath. Dad had a system: he'd call once but hang up after the third ring. Then, he'd call back a few minutes later. That way the boys knew when it was their dad calling versus someone else.

Sure enough, a second call came in only moments later, to which Sam frantically picked it up! "Daddy!" he cried, feeling panicked and stressed and needing his father's support on this issue.

"Sam?" John Winchester's voice came through the receiver, cracked and muffled. "Where's Dean? You know you aren't supposed to answer the phone unless Dean gives it to you—"

"I know, Daddy, but he's in the bathroom and he won't come out."

There was a long pause before Dad asked slowly, "Sammy, tell me, why're you two playing hooky?" His voice sounded softer and more sensitive somehow.

Sam cocked his head. "What's a _hooky_ , Daddy?"

Dad sighed, and Sam thought that he sounded really tired. "Playing hooky is when you skip school, Sam. I got a call from your school saying that you and Dean weren't there today."

"But we didn't skip school, we just stayed home 'cause Dean said it was a holiday and no one would be at school anyway." Sam was very confused. Were they supposed to go to school today and Dean lied about it?

Another world-weary sigh. "Why's Dean in the bathroom, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. "I dunno. I think he's sad though. It sounded like he was crying."

Dad said a word that Sam had been told multiple times not to repeat. A cold feeling of dread settled in Sam's chest; Dad sounded almost angry. "Sam, I'm on my way home, okay? Just leave your brother alone for now and I'll be there soon."

Sam sighed in relief. "Okay." He looked to the clock. The little hand was on the five and the big hand was on the seven. "The clock's at five-seven now. When'll you be back?"

"Not long, maybe when it's at, uh, six-three, okay?"

Sam decided that it wouldn't be much longer, so he replied, "Alright. Bye-bye, Daddy."

"Bye, Sammy. See ya' soon."

The line went dead and Sam replaced the phone onto its holder. He could still hear Dean's weird crying noises, which made him incredibly sad. It seemed unfair that Dean could comfort Sam when he was upset but he couldn't comfort Dean. He just hoped Dad would get back soon.

The clock was only at six-one when the was the clinging of a key jiggling in the door. Dad came in, opening the door with a loud slam, and rushed to the bathroom. His face looked red and distraught. "Daddy?" Sam asked tentatively.

"Dean?" Dad said, ignoring his youngest. He pounded his fist powerfully on the bathroom. "It's okay, son. I'm here."

Sam watched in amazement as the door finally opened and Dean peeked his face through. Like Dad, his face was pink all over and pinched tightly. Without saying anything, Dean collapsed into Dad's arms, shaking as another harsher round of crying began.

"I gotcha, Dean-o," Dad whispered, tears beginning to stream down his face as well. "I'm sorry for leaving today. I should've stayed."

"It's okay, Dad," Dean whimpered into Dad's flannel over-shirt, so timid and shakey that Sam could barely hear him from his vantage point. "You had stuff to do, I just… I'm sorry, I can't— I tried—" He was interrupted by his body overtaking him with sobs once more.

Sam watched in astonishment as his older brother broke down in his father's arms. Dad was crying too, tears now running in thick rivers down his face. _What was going on_ _?_

They stood their together for what seemed like ages, both crying solemnly as Sam watched. He didn't know why they were crying, which made him feel left out. Was he supposed to be crying too? He didn't feel sad, though. Finally, Dad pulled away from the hug, but kept a protective arm around Dean's torso. "Sam, go put your shoes on. We're gonna go get something to eat," Dad said, but his voice sounded funny; like he had a sore throat.

Sam nodded, doing as his father said without protest. He could hear Dad and Dean talking, their voices low murmurs, but he couldn't make out the words. Though he didn't mind, because somehow he had a feeling that he wasn't supposed to be listening in on this conversation.

They went to the diner down the road to eat, but Sam noticed that Dean wasn't even touching his burger that Dad had ordered for him. Sam set down the chicken nugget he'd been about to stuff in his mouth and scooted closer to Dean on the bench they were seated on. "Why aren't you eating?" he asked.

Dean looked down, didn't even meet Sam's eyes, and shrugged.

Sam frowned. "You want my chicken?"

"No, Sam," Dean grunted. His eyes were red-rimmed and his voice sounded like Dad's. "You…you need to eat."

"So do you," Sam insisted. He picked up the chicken nugget—his last one—and placed it on the edge of Dean's plate. "Please, Dean."

Sam was shocked at the shuddering breath that came out of Dean's mouth. He looked anguished and shook his head fervently. "I can't, Sam… I can't…"

"Daddy…," Sam tried, looking towards his father with pleading eyes.

"You're okay, Dean," Dad said, and Sam noticed that his plate looked untouched as well. "We'll take it home as leftovers. It's alright."

Dean nodded, eyes still focused down.

The next day, things were slightly back into order; Dean teased him, Dad looked into his next business trip, and they went to school. But the overall sadness lingered, and no one told Sam about what had transpired the day before.

It took years for Sam to figure it out. That day many years ago had been November 2nd, the anniversary of Mom's death, and Dean had made them skip school because he couldn't stand to be away from his family on that day. Dad, knowing the date, had made sure to rush home in order to comfort Dean and, in hushed whispers, promised to never leave on November 2nd again.

Promised to never leave him alone with the demons of his mind ever again.

* * *

 **Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to leave a review :)**


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